Child Abuse Story From Justin

by Justin
(Location Undisclosed)

Growing up it was me and my older brother. My mother left the family when I was like 4 and my brother's mother and our dad were never married and she wasn't around. We moved from California to New York after my mom left. I never exactly knew why she did but now looking back I have a pretty good idea why. My dad, he wasn't a good guy.

My dad was an alcoholic and addicted to a lot of stuff. He was always so angry. I remember being scared to breathe wrong in case it set him off. He beat me mercilessly every chance he got. I never did anything. I knew what he was doing was wrong but I still had some sick desire to protect him so I never told. Here are the times I remember best.

Once when I was 12, I came home from school. That was the first mistake. The buses were running late so I decided to walk. It was hard because my father had bruised me up pretty bad the night before and I was sore. Anyways I walked home. I hated going home, but whenever I stalled with friends I just ended up getting it worse later that night. I tried to be perfect for my dad, but I guess that's hard to see when you're drunk all the time. Anyways when I got home my dad was sitting on the couch, high from something. I was a little late so I kinda snuck real quietly from the living room up to my bedroom. I put my backpack down and then turned around back towards the door. My father was standing at it with a metal bat in his hands. My stomach felt sick right away. All I could do was back up further into my room. I couldn't even look him in the eyes. I started to beg him. All I could say was "Please". I said it over and over and over. I was backed against a wall. My brother came in. I thought maybe he'd try to stop it. All he did was drop off his bookbag and leave the room. It was me and my father inside with the door closed. I didn't know what to do. All i could think about was the pain. I was trapped. I started crying and my father started laughing. He raised the bat and I remember shielding my head just before he landed the blow across my face. Surprisingly, all I ended up with from that one was a broken jaw and some bruises on my back. I told the doctor it was an accident from baseball practice.

Another time, I think I was 13 or 14. I'd been in a foster home earlier for two years but now was living back with my dad and brother. In the foster home I lived with this woman and her husband. She'd tie me up and cut my wrists with razors. The scars were horrible. I tried to hide them but...they're a lot. For the record, I never hurt myself, she just made it look like i did. Anyways, my father saw them that time. He got mad. He thought I'd been trying to commit suicide. I tried to explain where the scars came from but he was drunk and it was too late. He grabbed my hair and started punching me in the face. I was big enough to fight back but..well, I don't know why I didn't. He took my arm and twisted it behind my back. Harder, more, and more. I felt my bones cracking. "Please! DAD DON'T!" I screamed. I begged. He wouldn't stop. My arm popped and he pushed me over to the floor. He was on my back. He had a fistfull of hair in his hand and just kept pulling it. He pulled my hair out of my scalp. He got up and kicked me in the stomach for what felt like forever. He kicked me down the stairs. I tried to run but the pain got the best of me and all I could do was curl up into a ball and hold my arm. My dad disappeared for a minute. I thought it was over. When he came back he was hovered over me with a wrench in his hand. Before I could react he started beating me with it. He yanked me up by my arm and lit the wrench into me. I couldn't breathe. I couldn't think. My body was numb. I passed out.

When I was a little younger I remember sitting up in my bed. Me and my brother shared a room. His bed had a sheet a blanket and two pillows. My bed was just a mattress. I was laying on it trying to sleep. My brother and dad were downstairs watching tv. I could hear the conversation. My dad got mad all of the sudden. He was mad because somebody ate his leftover baked potato. He started screaming. I swear my heart stopped beating. It was my brother who ate it. He ate it after school..I remember I saw him and I told him don't because Dad would get mad. He said if dad finds out he'd take the beating. Anyways my dad was screaming and I heard my brother. He said "Justin ate it dad..I told him don't but he wouldn't listen." I bolted out of my bed and went into the closet to hide. I heard my dad stumping up the steps. He burst into our room. It only took him a couple of seconds before the closet door swung open. He grabbed me by my foot and drug me into his room. I was tied down with a wire hanger and beaten with extension cords.

Umm..this part I've never really told anyone. It slipped out once by accident. This is the reason I got taken away and put in a foster home. My dad came into my room. He wasn't drunk or high for once which was really weird. He didn't say anything. He just reached out for my hand. I remember flinching because I thought he was about to beat me. I took his hand anyways. His hand was so big and warm. I wanted to cry because I'd never held my dad's hand before. I thought he was gonna take me to the movies or to play baseball like he would with my brother. He led me downstairs. There was a man down there. He was short and bald and jittery. He looked familiar. His name was C--. C-- handed my dad a hundred dollar bill. "How long?" He said. I didn't understand what was going on. My dad let go of my hand and went to the door. Before leaving he looked me up and down "An hour. If you want longer I need more." Then he left. C-- came up to me. I thought maybe he was a babysitter. I wanted him to like me so badly. I smiled at him and he slapped me across the face harder than my dad had ever done. Everything shattered then. He grabbed my arm and shoved me down to our cellar. I thought maybe he just paid my dad to smack me around but...no. The next day at school I saw C-- in the halls and it registered that he looked so familiar because he was a teacher at the school I went too. C-- paid my dad every Tuesday for a month to have me. I don't talk about what he use to do to me. I guess I haven't exactly come to terms with it. I can say though that the type of abuse he did hurts me the most.

I left home for good when I was 14. I'd been in and out living with friends or anywhere I could find. I went home that day in particular though because my brother was there and I hadn't seen him since I went into foster care. I'd talked to him on the phone to see if my dad was there. If he was home there was no way I was going. Brother told me he was home alone so I went. I walked into the house. I went upstairs to find my brother. He was in our room. I was so happy to see him. I tried to hug him but he said no. He told me to follow him down the stairs. When we got down my father was walking into the house. "Here he is dad." Brother said. My stomach sank. I was frozen where I stood. My father had this smug look on his face like he'd just been itching to get his hands on me one last time. I tried to diffuse it. I smiled and spoke to my dad like any normal kid would. "Block the door," he said to my brother. I looked at him, begging him with my eyes not too. He did anyways. I tried not to panic. I had managed to keep myself from being beat by my father since the wrench episode but now I was caught. I tried to run anyways. My brother grabbed me and threw me on the floor. "PLEEEASE!!" I screamed. "I'm sorry Just Let Me GOO! PLEASE!I'll never come back if that's what you want!" I begged my dad. I didn't want to get hit. I didn't want to feel the knuckles of his fists dig into me. He had other plans though. That's when I realized that both of them were high off of something. My brother held me and my dad pulled out a knife. He stabbed me in the place between my shoulder and chest, and again under my right ribs. Then they threw me out of the house.

I'm 17 now and haven't been back since. I don't see counselors because I can't really afford them. I live with two other guys who are older than me so I can afford rent with the job I have. I'm graduating high school early in January so I can work more hours to save for college. I don't talk to my brother only because he won't talk to me(I think he thinks I'm mad at him). And I just recently found out my mother passed away from cancer. I have a girlfriend!..I haven't exactly told her about my childhood but the scars she's seen so I know she suspects abuse. I'll tell her soon. I'm sending my dad an invitation to the graduation but I'll probably block out the address. I try not to think about my childhood even though it's hard. It's getting better though, and besides that, thanks to God things are finally looking up for me.

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